Just a little silly science fiction! And, yes, I know I said I wasn't going to kill anyone in my third straight posting, but, hey, things just seem to happen that way. What can I say?

Overkill

The entire apparatus was a kludge of mismatched parts, running the gamut from electrostatic ion generators to plasma channeling coils to something Nortrok couldn't even identify, but Chief Engineer Xilanx assured him this was the only instrument capable of destroying the enemy's immense starship. Once the device had initialized, those manning it began to ululate as the weapon hummed, and despite concerns bruited about of how the intense magnetic fields might kill them before they could attack, none left their post. As the ship appeared overhead, Xilanx nodded that all was copacetic, and shouted out the order to fire. Once the blast subsided, nothing remained of the vessel but a quintillion quantum particles trying to reassemble themselves within the nebulous haze obscuring a silvery crescent moon. After staring at the sky for a moment, Nortrok turned to Xilanx, and in a tremulous voice asked, "Wasn't there a full moon tonight?"

Thursday, July 25, 2013

As someone who has always had a knack for eating and mismanaging my weight, when I saw this prompt I immediately knew what my story would be.

I'm right behind you there, Woody! Just let me get a clean plate...

All You Can Eat

Woody had always been a large boy, as it was politely stated, and throughout his school years had no difficulty finding a spot on the football squad or wrestling team, maintaining his strength for those activities by eating with the same enthusiasm he displayed while competing. As he grew older, however, those days of glory faded, but not his passion for food. Therefore, filled with such anticipation as to be nearly uncontrollable, he decided to visit Buford's Boundless B-B-Q Buffet (newly opened on the south side of town just off exit 9 with ample free lighted parking and drinks included in the price of a meal on Tuesdays). Upon seeing the epicurean palace, he declared, "I believe I've died and gone to heaven." The words were curiously prophetic, coming to fruition, so to speak, somewhere between the second and third helpings, face down in the pickled watermelon.

Meaghan pulled her threadbare coat up around her neck for protection against the chill wind, a portent of the coming season. Winter would soon bring its cold beauty to beguile those few with warm clothes, a safe home, and enough to eat. She had managed to steal only a few meager potatoes, which she reluctantly presented to her leader. She tried to explain how little food remained in the villages, but he roared in response, "Don't give me all that fandangle! Just get back out there and find something worthwhile or I'll give you a wallop!" Meaghan looked to her friends, but found little sympathy in their craven eyes. "Well—I also found this knife," she rejoined, swinging it in a wide arc, slicing his throat and slinging a line of red blood on the wall. Times were hard and there would be one less mouth to feed that night.

I am humbled by being named the winner of the 23rd Monday Mixer! There were a lot of great entries this week, many using all of the prompts (some of which I had to look up to find out what they meant!). Thanks to everyone who read this post and especially those who commented!

Sunday, July 21, 2013

There are times when I get the camera out and take a few pictures, sometimes for art, sometimes just to enjoy. This week's photo (I hope to do this on a regular basis) is of a butterfly in my neighbor's garden.

Feel free to use the picture as long as attribution is given. You can use the text below for that:

Saturday, July 20, 2013

First order of business - a shameless plug: Please visit the website and read my haiku entry for the Message to Mars contest. You can vote for me (if you like it): Message to Mars entry. I need about 1,500 votes to catch the leader. I have 8 as of this writing, so winning is not a realistic goal; saving face is.

Anyway, here's this week's entry...

Wisdom

With his native guide, Steve had climbed the mountain and now faced the prophet in hope of receiving an answer to what was troubling him. "I used to believe most people were good, but now everything is so messed up, so distorted, with so many doing wrong and lying about their intentions, that I wonder if I was only fooling myself. Do you think there are still good people in this world and how can one tell who they are?" While the guide translated the words, the prophet's lips formed a slight, though polite, smile as if the wise man thought the request too simplistic, and when he provided only the briefest response before nodding his head and re-entering the temple, Steve thought the long journey had been for naught. After shutting the door, the guide turned to him and said, "His answer was, 'Look within; they will be known by the questions they ask.'"

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Though her father had always treated her well, especially so after her mother had died, being there when needed and seldom interfering except when a kind word of advice was prudent, curiosity had overcome her sense of betrayal as she entered his room. Laura had found the key to the small metal box he kept in the back of his closet, a box she had never seen opened, the one that caused him to skirt any question concerning its contents, and while he was out, she would finally learn what secrets it held. When she lifted the lid, there didn't seem to be anything of real interest—certainly nothing he would need to hide—as it was mostly old receipts and insurance papers. She was browsing through the last few pieces, however, when she came across the results of a DNA test proving she couldn't possibly be his daughter, nearly dropping the box as she read her name on the report. As the implications of the words unfolded within her mind, Laura realized he had accepted her anyway, without prejudice, perhaps needing her as much as she needed him; so she closed the box, carefully turned the key to make certain it was locked, and returned it to the exact spot on the shelf from which it came, praying it would never be opened again.

The was an intrinsic beauty to the Dakota badlands that appealed to Sam, although it was possible the beauty had more to do with the fact that nobody dared try to flush him out of a place he knew like the back of his hand. It was a good spot to hide once a job was finished, and Sam's job was robbing banks. This morning he rode to the top of a bluff overlooking Kodoka and tied his horse to bit of scrub, just out of sight. A train would soon arrive in the small town bringing the cash needed by the businesses for payroll, and since Sam was broke, thought it his civic duty to distribute it in a more egalitarian manner, starting with himself. A patient man, he sat down behind a coppice sprouting from an old cottonwood stump for cover, rubbed his bijou for luck, and waited.

Saturday, July 6, 2013

I haven't done a poem for a while, so I thought I'd give one a try... It rhymes here and there, and in no particular pattern, and in some places, it doesn't. Poetry also gives me a bit of leeway on the five sentences - yeah, they're a bit strung out. As am I...

Also, I think there is a poem with a similar premise out there - I seem to remember reading it long ago, but I can't locate it. If anyone recalls what it is, please post it in a comment - Thanks!

A Gentlemen's Agreement on Wings

"I've always been envious of birds," said IAs drinks were delivered to our table outside(The waitress shooing the pigeons awayThat had oddly gathered around),And then I resumed as I looked to the sky,"Always wishing for wings and the freedom to fly,To dance among clouds so terribly high,
To somersault within the branches of trees,
To look down upon the land and the streams,And never be afraid to fall,"To which my friend gave me a look of concernTaking his glass as we drank in turn,Saying nothing at all.So when talk continued with my dear, old friend,(We had finished a round and had ordered again),On the implications of growing some wingsAnd living my life as a bird,I asked if the feathers would help my appearance Or possibly make it the worse,
To which he replied (with rolling eyes),
"It surely couldn't hurt."He commented, however, how I might disdainA diet of seeds and wiggling worms(And possibly other things that squirm),
To which I replied "I ate them often as a child;
I suppose I could do it again."Then, being a person of practical nature,
He brought up the problem of inclement weather,
And whether a home in the rain and the snow
Would be too much to trade for wings of fine feathers
Unless an un-winged one would allow a small entrance
To a place warm and dry until springtime commenced;
So a gentlemen's agreement was madeWith a shaking of hands(As my friend shook his head),That should any wings on either appear
During a time of unpleasant climeThe other will leave a window propped high,For ingress or egress, both day and night.Thus it was settled on how to surviveIf it should happen that wings do arrive,And wishing to toast the agreement, I asked(Lifting up my now empty glass)If I might buy the next round for my guest,To which he responded, his head in his hands,"Oh, please, dear God, yes."